Break Rules, Not Promises
by Ansy Pansy aka Panz
Summary: Kirsten clockwatches alone in the kitchen in 3.21 S3 spoilers Oneshot


Break Rules, Not Promises

**Summary: **Kirsten clock-watches alone in the kitchen in 3.21 (S3 spoilers)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Kirsten. If I did I wouldn't be so cruel to her…although that said I'm often very mean to her in my fics. Ah well!

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Once again, really shouldn't be writing but I'm a mess right now and this is all that came out of my mental health day beside a whole lot of tears. wouldn't let me post this last weekend but it's here now!

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Kirsten promised herself she wouldn't look at the clock until she had finished making dinner. She sliced and diced, fried, roasted, boiled, braised, and baked, stirred and skimmed, whisked and whipped. She lay the table with placemats and two sets of silverware, arranged a breadbasket, used her favourite teacups and set out candles until everything was just so. The final beeper had just gone and Kirsten turned down the oven, surprised to see the time on the dial.

7.15

So he was already late.

Well, fifteen minutes she could forgive. The potatoes could probably do with a little more browning anyway. She checked on the vegetables and covered the meat with foil. She could wait. It was fine. She ignored the gnawing feeling beginning in her stomach and prodded the carrots forcefully, rather too forcefully when she noticed the clock again.

7.27

She took a deep breath. It was probably just traffic. If he was going to be properly late he would have called. And now he didn't want to waste time in calling, he'd be home any minute Kirsten told herself. The washing up was piled by the sink; she may as well start on that she decided. It would mean they didn't have to spend time on it later, time better spent on other things. She took her watch off and laid it on the windowsill, its face mocking her.

7.34

As the sink filled with warm soapy water Kirsten debated taking off her rings and laying them beside her watch but she couldn't bring herself to do it. This time she didn't want to take them off. She didn't want to admit that things were this far gone, that she was feeling the ways she had last time, that she was contemplating the end of her marriage for the second time. It wouldn't do the rings any harm she reasoned, plunging her hands into the bowl and scrubbing at a pan vigorously. And it wasn't as if Sandy was likely to notice this time anyway.

7.42

Kirsten told herself she couldn't turn around until all the utensils were clean and dry, unless of course Sandy appeared before then. Of course he would. She wasn't to glance back at the slightest noise, she would have to wait. But she couldn't help watching the reflection of the kitchen doorway to the hall in the window, watching for any sign of movement behind her. The vibrant California sunset that was streaking the sky was lost on her as she languidly rinsed the various pots and pans. The movement of time however she did note, the creeping shadows and increasing inky blackness of the sky telling her as plainly as the hands on her watch. He was late. Late. So very late.

8.06

Perhaps he thought he'd said eight not seven, and now he was simply late for dinner at eight o'clock. She was grasping at straws she knew that, but what else could she do? Dinner was probably ruined by now. She gingerly peered under the foil at the meat and gently spooned the vegetables. Perhaps they were a little overdone by now but it wasn't her fault. It could be worse.

8.12

Maybe not. Sandy was more than an hour late. How could it be worse? Suddenly a hundred images flew unbidden to her mind. Who said this was his fault? What if something had happened and here she was blaming him. He could be ill or in an accident. Don't think it, she reasoned, reaching for the pile of clean cutlery and crockery and regimentally putting it away. Knives and forks lined up neatly in the drawer, pans hung in size order, bowls stacked into each other and mugs with their handles all facing the same direction in the cupboard.

8.23

If something bad had happened she would have heard by now, surely. But that wasn't any comfort. Relieving as the lack of a terrible accident would be on the one hand, the alternative was in one way worse. The alternative was Sandy simply forgetting she existed. Or even Sandy just not caring. She would serve the food and by that time he would be home she declared. Her voice broke the heavy silence in the empty kitchen, the note of doubt evident and she felt stupid for talking out loud.

8.30

Kirsten took the warm plates from the oven and set them on the counter. She arranged the limp vegetables on the plate as best she could and artistically dished out the other bits and pieces, which had looked far more appetising an hour and a half ago. The meat was a little tough but still edible and she became engrossed in the presentation of the meal. She remembered her watch as she added garnish and crossed to the sink to reclaim it.

8.47

No, it had to be wrong. There was no way he was this late. She set the two plates on the hob to keep warm and tidied up the kitchen island, ears straining for the sound of his car pulling up the drive, the door opening, tired footsteps, an apologetic voice, but there was nothing. She promised herself that she'd eat at nine whether he had come or not.

9.01

She couldn't bring herself to do it. She'd tried; putting the plates on the table, sitting down, lifting her knife and fork but suddenly she wasn't hungry anymore. Kirsten couldn't help but stare at the empty place opposite and the sight turned her stomach. Two hours. Two fucking hours. Where the hell was he? She wasn't going to call him, no way. She had to be strong. She angrily speared a carrot, it was cold. Flicking the remains of it off her fork she fought with a medallion of meat, it tasted like charcoal even though it certainly wasn't that dry or burnt. Last year it would have been, last year Sandy would, probably, have been there to laugh at it, two years ago they would have been way past the desert course by now. The phone rang, startling her out of her reminiscence and she leapt to answer it, cutlery clattering onto the plate.

9.09

'Sandy?'

'No Kirsten, it's me.'

'Um who?'

'Gawd Kirsten, I know you've been lying low in terms of the Newport social scene but you can't possibly have forgotten who I am! It's Taryn.'

Kirsten finally placed the high-pitched whine. Taryn. Oh great.

'Hi Taryn…' Kirsten had barely managed to force her voice into something more pleasant and less likely to cry before the head Newpsie was off; chattering at breakneck speed about something that Kirsten didn't have the strength or the inclination to listen to.

'Taryn…' she interrupted. 'Taryn! _Taryn_!'

The other woman paused for breath and Kirsten jumped in. 'That sounds really exciting but I'm kinda waiting for a call so could I ring you back tomorrow?'

'Waiting for a call? How mysterious! Anything I should know about?'

In normal circumstances she would have rolled her eyes but tonight even that kind of humour was beyond her.

'Just Sandy.'

'Ah yes. Newport's man of the hour. So charitable of him building a new hospital although I hear it's going to be more of a place for the lowlifes so thank goodness we've still got the HOAG.'

'Yes well…bye Taryn.'

Kirsten hung up quickly and then stood holding the phone for a long while, willing it to ring, fighting the urge to call her husband. He'd probably arrive just as she called and that would just be silly. Still, she didn't replace the phone in the cradle, carrying it with her as she went to replace her knife and fork by her plate and straighten her chair. Maybe her appetite would return when he got home. When. Not if. He'd be home before she went to bed tonight. Surely he would after what she'd said to him. She'd admitted she needed him, told him she felt disconnected. He couldn't ignore that could he? He wouldn't? She couldn't answer that question and it scared her. Stop it. She told herself. Stop thinking like that. She noticed the candles weren't lit and strode purposely towards the cupboard to fetch the matches, her stride faltering as she caught sight of the clock again.

9.20

This wasn't happening. It wasn't. Not again. She wasn't meant to be waiting for him again. She wasn't meant to be alone watching the clock, waiting for him to come home, waiting for him to remember his wife. She'd lived through him leaving her once and how did it end? She'd ended up in rehab, their relationship having to reinvent itself all over again. She didn't know how many more times they could do this. She wasn't sure she could make this end any differently; the ache that her alcoholism had died down to had been flaring up the past couple of weeks, the feelings of uncertainty, lack of control and loneliness nagging endlessly. She wasn't quite on the edge tonight but she was approaching it. Where was Sandy? She needed him; she needed him now to ward off this craving, both cravings; the craving for her husband and for alcohol. But right now, the latter was the only one she could be certain of finding tonight. Kirsten hurriedly lit a match, anything to take her mind off what she was thinking. If she lit the candles everything was done and he'd come, she reasoned illogically. But at the same time she hated how the candles would be another reminder of time passing, the slender cylinders shortening with each minute. She lit them, recognising the tremble of her own hand. It frightened her.

9.31

This was crazy. The clocks had to be wrong, both her watch and the clock. It was unlikely but she didn't care. She wanted some reason to be wrong about this, to be wrong about Sandy being this late. Why had she even believed he'd be here? Why had she let herself trust him again? She'd simply set herself up for a fall. God she wanted to call him. She wanted to yell at him, scream obscenities in the hope it would shock him out of this skin he was wearing. Cry hysterically to make him wake up and realise how hurt she was. Leave, so he had to come home to an empty house, an empty bed just like she had to. But she couldn't. She couldn't do any of those things she was too strong and not strong enough. Kirsten found herself clutching the phone, fingers itching. She bit her lip and punched in a number.

_The time is 9.45pm_.

The automated voice was tinny and distant but somehow it felt closer, more real than Sandy had done that morning. So her watch and the oven clock were both perfectly in sync with the rest of California. She hadn't missed daylight saving or anything. There wasn't an explanation for the time, for his lateness. She took a deep breath. She hadn't given in; she hadn't called him, yet.

9.48

She set the phone down beside the chopping board and filled a glass at the tap. The water was cold and her teeth chattered against the glass but she knew that wasn't the only reason. Her other hand gripped the edge of the sink and she stared steadfastly out of the window. The pool lights made strange reflections on the glass walls of the poolhouse. Ryan wasn't home yet. She felt a rush of guilt for causing him to come home from his weekend but knew she'd done the right thing. Whatever Sandy might say. Sandy. Where the hell was that man? She'd give him a piece of her mind if it didn't take so much effort. If only she could find the words, if she was sure she wouldn't break down in the middle of it. No. Kirsten promised herself she wasn't going to cry. She'd fought tears while she was washing up, thinking of all the times she and Sandy had done it together, the chore made fun by their gentle teasing and intermittent kisses. No. She couldn't cry.

9.59

In one minute he was going to be three hours late. Kirsten wondered why she was still waiting here. Why hadn't she given up and done something else? She couldn't give up, Kirsten Nichol Cohen didn't know how. She did know however what it was like to need a diversionary tactic. One more minute stood here like this and she _was_ going to cry, or worse. Much worse. She'd promised herself she wouldn't but that was quickly becoming irrelevant.

10.00

She seized the phone, hating the fact she was giving in but knowing she had to do something. Her shaking fingers slowly pressed each of the well known digits. This way she had longer to change her mind. To stop herself from breaking her promise not to call him, to work out what on earth she was going to say.

Kirsten knew it was going to voicemail when he didn't pick up immediately. If he knew she was calling he would answer. He would. He wasn't that far gone. No. She felt her heart sink and a lump form in her throat. He wasn't even picking up. The jovial voice of the message grated against the man she could envisage still at the office.

_Hi this is Sandy Cohen, I can't get to the phone right now s…_

She stabbed her nail against the button to end the call. To cut off the voice of the man who used to be her husband. She couldn't listen to that. At one time his voice, even that recording of it could make her feel better. Now it was just so incongruous it hurt. Once again she wondered if there was some other reason, an excuse that would make her regret her anger later but somehow she doubted it. She was his next of kin, the 'In case of emergency please call' name on all his identification. She would have been informed. And she liked to think she would have known, would have felt it if something had happened. Although perhaps that was stupid considering how disconnected they were right now. The anger she felt had drained away and she knew her voice would have cracked if she'd tried to speak. What was there to say anyway? It was all too cliché.

10.10

Read the screen of the phone and she set it back on the counter firmly, eyes dark with hurt and glaring at, but not seeing, the kitchen around her. She turned on her heel and marched towards the table, then stood, staring at it sadly for a long time. The romantic meal set out for two, food daintily arranged, crystal glasses gleaming in the light of the candles which were now decidedly shorter than they had been. A table that just summed up her marriage right now; forsaken, forgotten, ignored, unwanted, bypassed. The fine china was chilly against her hand when she touched what would have been his plate, had he bothered to come home to eat from it. The food was stone cold. Kirsten toyed with the idea of keeping Sandy's dinner and forcing him to eat it when he finally did show up but she knew he'd just laugh it off. She may as well continue the cliché she thought, carrying the plate to the garbage and dumping the contents brusquely into the can.

10.25

The exact time no longer mattered, she simply needed something to stop her caring about it. To dull the feelings of isolation, rejection, neglect. Perhaps she was overreacting. She didn't care. She'd wanted her husband for one night. Was that too much to ask? Scratch that, she'd needed him. She couldn't help doing this. Kirsten forcefully swung open the door of the cupboard beneath the sink. After Sandy's last foray into plumbing she knew he wasn't likely to even touch the door handle and so that was where she kept it. Just one. Just in case, she'd told herself. Again. But this was different. This was just wine, white wine. Chardonnay, her favourite. It was just…she needed to know it was there, for times like this. She couldn't stop herself grabbing the corkscrew that still languished in the drawer and retrieving a cut glass from the cupboard. It was natural. Bottle. Corkscrew. Glass. She'd done it so many times. Second nature. Problem. Answer; glass of wine. Even before she had an actual drinking problem she had used alcohol as a relaxant, a stress-reliever, a support. Her fingers hovered over the corkscrew. This didn't have to happen. She could stop now, boil the kettle instead. Drink something else. But she didn't want something else. She wanted the taste, the comfort of the wine. Lined up on the chopping board were the three items needed for her downfall. To break her biggest promise. She didn't want to do that but it was getting harder to resist. She took a deep breath, and another, hoping Sandy would come home and save her from herself. No such luck.

10.32

It felt so familiar; the pressure of the corkscrew, the satisfying 'pop' of the cork, the feel of the neck of the bottle in her hand. She hesitated there, running her hands down the cool glass. Was she really going to do this? Really? She had to fight it she knew. She wasn't going to let him do this to her. She had worked too hard. Neither she or the boys deserved this and she wasn't about to hurt them. Without giving herself time to change her mind she upended the bottle and watched the golden liquid swirl down the drain. It was an act of defiance but it was also one of fear. She knew that; she knew if she hadn't poured it into the sink she would have poured it into the glass and drank it. But at least she was proving she didn't have to drink, she didn't have to give in to it. The sound of the door startled her. Reflex, survival instinct, self preservation, whatever you wanted to call it took over and she spun around to fling the incriminating evidence back under the sink. Hurriedly straightening up and tucking her hair guiltily behind her ear she caught sight of Seth and hoped he didn't noticed the momentary flash of disappointment that crossed her features. Hastily rearranging her face to concerned mother rather than a pseudo-mother who had almost relapsed, she greeted her son.

'Hey.'

She glanced at her watch as he rooted in the fridge.

10.50

'Where have you been? It's late.' Late. Almost eleven and Sandy still wasn't home. Not that he ever was these days, but tonight he'd promised. He promised nothing, she reminded herself. He'd said he 'could be home'. That wasn't a promise, however much she wanted it to be. Kirsten refocused on what Seth was saying; hours of mindless bloodshed and violence? She could do with some of that. Perhaps she should have secretly played Seth's video games tonight, instead of becoming crazy and depressed clockwatching in a lonely kitchen.

'You want to talk?' she asked, suddenly not wanting Seth to leave her alone in here with her thoughts and the cravings that were taking hold again. She shouldn't have wasted that wine. What a stupid idea. She could feel her fingers tapping the chopping board, hear them in fact, but couldn't stop it. Even the threat of Seth noticing wasn't enough. She just wanted someone to notice her. As usual Seth was looking for Ryan. She didn't begrudge him his best friend and brother but she obviously didn't hide her regret that he couldn't open up to his mother well enough. She shouldn't have dropped her eyes but she couldn't look at her son who was so like his father until she'd gathered herself together. Kirsten felt the guilt as he asked if she was okay but couldn't help being glad, relieved someone had noticed that something was off. Of course she lied in response, lifting her head and giving him the reply he wanted. The one she wanted him to have. She couldn't have him worrying.

'Yeah, everything's okay.'

It didn't quite convince him and she couldn't blame him. It didn't convince herself. Nothing was okay when you'd waited for your husband for four long, lonely hours. Seth studied her face for a moment and she held her smile as he left. It barely lasted that long, faltering as her face betrayed her thoughts. Betrayed. She knew how that felt. The time was

11.03

Kirsten gathered together the silverware, tossing it into the drawer, the noise louder and angrier than she had anticipated. She didn't have the energy to be angry any more, now she just felt sad, empty, forsaken. Her own meal followed Sandy's into the garbage and for once she didn't rinse the plates before putting them into the dishwasher. There was no one here to comment on it anyway. Within a few minutes the glasses and cups were back in the cupboards and the basket returned to the counter. The ever-threatening tears were clouding her vision by the time she came to folding the unused placemats, smoothing them with her hands before storing them away. It was rare they were used. She hated to think she'd made an effort for nothing. Kirsten set the phone back in its usual position and glanced back at the now-bare table. Just as well she didn't feel hungry. Turning off the lights simply made the digits on the clock display more pronounced. As if they needed to be.

11.11

In the sanctuary of their room Kirsten dropped the façade; unclenching her set jaw, uncurling her hands so they could fidget uncontrollably and letting herself collapse on the bed. She sat, hunched over, hands fumbling in her lap, head bent forward so her hair shielded her face. Lost eyes trained on the carpet, dark green and swimming. The boys were both in the poolhouse; she'd seen them deep in conversation as she lowered the blinds. She should probably go check on Ryan, find out more about Seth's weekend but she didn't have the energy. It had been hard enough keeping it together during their short exchange. Perhaps she was a terrible mother; she had almost relapsed. Even after taking Seth to AA, after promising herself that Ryan would never, ever have to suffer this again. It's not my fault, she whispered. This was the result of having a terrible husband. She felt sick thinking that, guilty even. She hated how she could feel guilty when this was his fault. He hadn't even called. This time she didn't try to stop herself crying. The tears spilled over, rushing down her cheeks like scattered pearls, sobs rising in her throat. As she slumped sideways on the bed she could see the clock on her beside table through tear-blurred eyes. The numbers illuminated the false smiles of her and Sandy in the photograph that stood there. A time when she thought things couldn't get any worse. She'd been wrong. She had thought they were past all this. She'd stopped working so hard, never thought Sandy would beat her at her own game. She'd thought they'd hit rock bottom and made their way back to the surface. They'd just been breaking even, why did they have to sink again?

Kirsten had thought love would last forever. Maybe she was wrong.

11.18

To hell with promises. Sandy wasn't keeping his so why should she bother?

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So, as you can see, Kirsten's scenes recently are giving me a lot of food for thought. Let me know what you think.

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